Visions from Afar
by KrystalBlaze - Jerikor
Summary: After recieving a vision of murder from an animal, Johnny, Walt, and Bruce are spun into a web of confusion centering on a fear that Johnny cannot erase, no matter how hard he tries. (updated 7-5-04)
1. Apollo

This is my first Dead Zone fanfic. I hope you like it.  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, though Anthony Michael Hall would be a pleasure to own. Hehehe.  
  
Hope you enjoy.  
  
**= visions. My computer won't do italics, so asterisks will have to suffice.  
  
Visions from Afar  
"I'm on my way to get it now, Bruce," Johnny Smith told his best friend Bruce Lewis. "Don't worry, it won't lose its antique shine."  
  
"It better not," Bruce threatened. "My dealer says it's worth a fortune."  
  
"You should have let me talk you out of seeing him."  
  
"You'll be sorry when I'm rolling in cash."  
  
"You'll be sorry when I see the look on your face when he says it's worth nothing."  
  
"You'll be sorry, Johnny-"  
  
"I got to go," Johnny interrupted. "I'm pulling up now. Here's trouble."  
  
"Why?" Bruce inquired.  
  
"Sarah and Walt are in the drive-way," he reported. "They look like they're arguing."  
  
"Poor Johnny," Bruce remarked. "Just get me my bowl."  
  
Johnny placed his Jeep his park and put his cell phone down. Grabbing his cane, he exited the Jeep and started to limp to where Walt and Sarah Bannerman were apparently fighting. Johnny didn't look forward to walking into the midst of a firestorm, and he certainly didn't want to walk into one where Walt was concerned.  
  
He and Walt had been on edgy terms ever since Johnny had revived Walt from his coma. He suspected Walt remembered everything that had happened in his mind, but he thought they were dreams. Johnny, however, knew better. He was the only one, but that didn't mean Sarah didn't share their secret, and now Walt did too. Johnny had had no choice but to tell Walt in that crucial moment, but now he just hoped that Walt wouldn't take it too hard if he decided his dreams were based in fact.  
  
Neither one of the couple turned their head as Johnny steadily approached. He didn't want to intrude, but they seemed to be in the thick of a hasty argument. As he neared, he suddenly became aware of a shape sitting at Walt's feet. Around its neck was leather leash that tightly was gripped in Walt's hand. Johnny stopped dead when he realized what it was.  
  
The German shepherd dog docilely turned its head, sniffing the air innocently. Johnny exhaled, still staring at the dog. The old fear was rising in him again and he tried to push it down. He had always had a fear of dogs. He could place the roots of his fear nowhere, but it always haunted him. Even the smallest of Yorkish terriers could be a menace and deadly. It was a misplaced fear, he knew, but he couldn't expel it from his system.  
  
Suddenly the dog began to bark. Johnny gasped and jumped.  
  
Both Walt and Sarah turned. Sarah's eyes were distressed and Walt's were angry, but they soon turned to dismay when Johnny came into view. Johnny tried to still his beating heart as he the dog started to growl at him and break away from its leash.  
  
"Apollo," Walt said sharply. "Stay."  
  
The dog quieted its leaps, but continued to stare at Johnny with an angry look.  
  
"Hey Johnny," Sarah said, with a trace of warmth, but distress ringed her voice as well as her eyes.  
  
"Hi John," Walt said tightly, but welcomingly. Over the past few months since Johnny had woken from his coma and set into motion the crazy situation they were currently in, he and Walt had come to respect each other, even like each other. They were friends, but hostile enemies as well. Johnny had learned that from his trespassing in Walt's memories. "What brings you here?"  
  
Johnny sputtered in his throat and still watching the dog, managed to say faintly, "I came for the bowl."  
  
"Oh, yes," Sarah immediately said. She shot a murderous look at Walt. "I'll go get it. Don't you bring that thing into my house, Walt, don't!"  
  
"He's harmless!" Walt shouted behind her as she stormed into the house. "He's just a dog!"  
  
Johnny stood by, not saying a word, still scrutinizing the dog.  
  
Shaking his head, Walt turned to Johnny and said, "She's overreacting. It's just a dog."  
  
Johnny cleared his throat. "So . . . what's with the dog?"  
  
"Some lady got murdered," Walt explained with length. "She was found up in the woods about two days ago and we just found out who she was. We went up to her house and found this dog here." Walt placed a friendly hand on the dog's head and Johnny flinched inwardly. "He's really sweet and we're not taking him to the shelter. None of the others would take him, so I did." He whistled lowly. "I never thought she'd get this mad."  
  
"Why?" Johnny questioned, backing up slowly.  
  
"She doesn't want him around little Johnny," Walt said, rolling his eyes. "She's convinced it's a monster animal and we kill her son. Plus she says Johnny's got allergies, but the funny thing is, they've never crept up until now."  
  
"How long do you have to keep the dog?"  
  
"I'll keep him until we find an owner," Walt said. He glanced darkly at the house. "Or until Sarah kicks him out."  
  
Johnny looked down at the dog, who was still stalking him with his eyes. Johnny coughed and moved back. He looked up to Walt to see his surprise.  
  
"You're not afraid of him, are you?" he asked with some humor.  
  
"No," Johnny stammered, swallowing. "Of course not. He's harmless."  
  
Walt was looking at Johnny with an expression of laughter. Johnny felt heat rise in him.  
  
"He's harmless," he repeated, and killing his fear, boldly reached out and touched the dog's head.  
  
**Panting, he stared ahead into the rain. The heavy winds and rain blocked his keen nose from picking up any scents. Whimpering in confusion, he started to run down the muddy bank. Lightning creaked overhead and he yelped in surprise. The fur on his back started to stand up straight. Fear crept into him as he continued down the bank. The ground underneath his pads was becoming sore and his claws were chipping and scraping. Water leaked into his eyes and he furiously blinked it away, keeping his muzzle down.  
  
Suddenly he caught a scent. Stopping, he rose on one leg and inhaled deeply. She was close . . . she was right there!  
  
Barking, he emerged from the shadows to darkly see a man running forward and dragging her down. Barking, he sprang up and as another bolt of lightning illuminated the sky, he could see him viciously clawing at her. The water poured over him, but in his hand was a viciously sharp object and it was arching downward. She was screaming and desperately struggling to escape. Howling now, he leapt forward.****  
  
"Down Apollo! Johnny, get back!"  
  
Johnny frantically stepped back, then immediately felt a sense of vertigo as he realized he wasn't on all fours anymore. Dizzily, he moved back, trying to clear his eyes, as though water were still leaking into them. Murkily he could see the dog leaping at him, snapping, and Walt attempting to drag him down. Swaying, Johnny continued to blink.  
  
"Whew, he sure doesn't like you Johnny!" Walt said, winded as he finally subdued the dog. "Bad Apollo, bad dog!"  
  
"See!"  
  
Sarah was running down the drive way, carrying the crystal bowl. Her face was furrowed in anger. "He almost killed Johnny!"  
  
"He did not!" Walt yelled back, gripping the dog's leash tightly as he looked at Johnny. "You okay, John?"  
  
"I'm fine," Johnny said shakily. "That's a big dog."  
  
"Johnny, are you okay?" Sarah asked as soon as she reached them, her eyes throwing daggers at Walt. Before Johnny could answer, she continued, "No, you're not. Walt, if he almost attacked Johnny, I don't want him near my son. I don't want a large animal with large fangs anywhere near him!"  
  
"Sarah, please, he's a good dog-"  
  
"Then why'd he attack Johnny?" Sarah said pointedly.  
  
Walt gaped, and then looked at Johnny wordlessly. Swallowing, his heart calming down, Johnny stared at the dog. What had happened? He had touched the dog and . . . it was a vision. He had been the dog. Johnny could barely contemplate it. A dog?  
  
Oh, this was too much. A dog? He had become a dog? He drafted his gaze toward Sarah and Walt, who were now starting to argue again. This was too strange.  
  
"Walt, please, listen-"  
  
"He's harmless!"  
  
"He attacked Johnny!"  
  
"Johnny made a big move!"  
  
"Little Johnny will too! If an adult can startle a dog, look at a kid!"  
  
"He's only a dog!"  
  
"With fangs!"  
  
"Listen-"  
  
"He isn't staying in my house-"  
  
"I can take him!"  
  
Both Walt and Sarah became silent as they looked at Johnny. He swallowed. Where had that come from?  
  
"I can take care of him," he repeated, gazing down at Apollo.  
  
"But you don't like dogs," Sarah said, confused. Walt looked darkly at Sarah, as if wondering how she would know such an intimate fact.  
  
"I like dogs now," Johnny hissed, looking at Sarah meaningfully.  
  
"I don't know, Johnny," Walt said, perplexed. "He's a strong animal and he just jumped at you. I mean, your leg . . ." he looked pointedly at Johnny's cane.  
  
"I'm fine," Johnny protested. "Besides, it's only going to be for a few days, right?"  
  
"We think," Walt said, still floored. "But we're not sure."  
  
"It can't be that hard," Johnny said.  
  
"He's a big dog," Walt still pertained. Suddenly he became aware of Sarah's pleading eyes that covered the daggers. He sighed. "If you're sure . . ."  
  
"I'm positive," Johnny insisted, again choking back his fear of the monstrous dog gazing at him.  
  
"Well then," Walt said, looking at Sarah angrily. Sarah only seemed satisfied and pleased. "I guess I should thank you." Johnny waited for an apology, but all he saw were fuming blades at Sarah. "I'll drive him over to your house because I have his things. Can we take your Jeep?"  
  
"Sure," Johnny said weakly as he saw the dog stand to all fours. "Let's get moving."  
  
"Great," Sarah said enthusiastically. "I'll get dinner started. Thanks, Johnny. I'm sure this . . . harmless dog," and she spit the word out, "will give you no trouble." Smirking at Walt, she smiled at Johnny, and handed him the bowl. "Tell Bruce I said thanks. It was quite the centerpiece at my party."  
  
"I'll pass the word," Johnny promised, wedging the bowl in between his arm and side. "Put the dog in the back, Walt. Just pile everything in there." Walt nodded and yanked on the leash. He and the dog went over to his cruiser, which was parked a few feet away. Johnny watched them both sickly.  
  
Sarah coughed, then smiled at Johnny again. "I know you don't like dogs. Don't you remember when we were kids? Your dad's Lab?"  
  
"Elvis?" Johnny asked, his face turning into displeasure at the memory. "How can I not? The dog almost ripped my foot off."  
  
"Yeah," Sarah laughed. "Your dad threatened to sue the doctors if they didn't save your foot."  
  
"And he kept the dog after that," Johnny said, shaking his head. "He yelled at me for provoking his baby. I hated that dog."  
  
"Just don't tease this one," Sarah said, winking.  
  
"I did not tease that dog!" Johnny objected. "I was trying to feed it."  
  
"Watch your kibble, Johnny," Sarah told him, starting up the drive-way. "Don't let him attack you."  
  
"Sure thing," Johnny said sourly. "I'm really going to be able to stop him."  
  
"You coming, John?" Walt's voice took him from Sarah. Winking at his one-time fiancée, Johnny went to his Jeep and opened the back, after quickly put the crystal bowl carefully in the front of the Jeep. Turning back towards Walt, he moved out of the way as he and the dog approached. Walt was hefting a large pet carrier in one hand, his whitened knuckles on the leash in the other. Johnny took a deep breath and went forward.  
  
Apollo's eyes followed him as a laser on a target would.  
  
"Walt," Johnny said. "Give me the carrier."  
  
"Not to worry," Walt said, reaching the Jeep and heaving the carrier in the back. "We're already here. Don't worry." His voice was tight, and he wondered if Walt had wondered about the brief conversation that had transpired between Johnny and Sarah a few seconds earlier. Walt had grown a bit more suspicious lately, thought Johnny as Walt started to coax the dog up into the cage. He's suspecting something, and he's got good reason to.  
  
Johnny almost burned with shame every time he thought about the night he had had with Sarah. He had not told anyone about it, not even Bruce. He had told Walt in the coma, but did Walt remember that? That night had been a complete and utter accident.  
  
Sure, he suddenly thought in blazing shame, I just happened to grab her arm and pull her back, and then we just happened to sleep with each other. Yes, a complete and utter accident.  
  
Johnny watched nauseously as the dog, in one smooth, flexing leap, was up into the cage.  
  
"Good job," Walt praised, roughing the dog's head. "Good Apollo." He shut the cage door and latched the lock. Johnny watched closely to make sure it was latched correctly and lashed tightly. Apollo gazed at Johnny with intelligent, glittering eyes. Johnny shivered involuntarily. Did the dog know that Johnny had invaded its memories?  
  
"I'll get his food and things," Walt said to Johnny, already heading back to his car, forgetting to slam the back closed. Hesitating, Johnny again looked at the dog. He was still staring stonily. Raising his head, grasping his cane loosely in his hand, he quickly slammed the back closed.  
  
Apollo's barks were loud and furious, and Johnny fell back, his heart hammering in his heart.  
  
"Be careful," Walt's voice scolded crossly as he came back, dragging thirty pound bag of food and a box. He caught sight of Johnny's pale face. "This may not be such a good idea," he whistled, wresting the bag of food over the side of the Jeep. "You look like he spooked you."  
  
"Calm down, Walt," Johnny retorted, his heart calming, but now he became agitated. "I'm fine. Let's go."  
  
Walt didn't reply, and Johnny limped to the driver's seat and easily hopped in, resting his cane within easy reach. He put the key in the ignition and waited impatiently for Walt to come in. Turning around, he saw painstakingly arranging the food and dog carrier in the back. Exasperatedly, Johnny took out his cell phone and dialed.  
  
"Bruce?" he asked.  
  
"Johnny?" Bruce said, his voice alert. "You've got my bowl, I'm taken?"  
  
"No," Johnny replied. "It's shattered in a million pieces and the pieces are sticking me in the leg, they've my leg up, and I'm in the hospital, waiting for surgery, and they say I need a physical therapist again for a year."  
  
"Ha ha," Bruce answered dryly. Then he turned frantic. "You're not telling the truth, are you?"  
  
"Yes, I am. Except instead of a year of physical therapist, they want me to go for three, and they want me to pay you very badly because of your quality of work lately."  
  
"JOHNNY!"  
  
"Jeez, calm down, it's not like it's worth anything," Johnny said, chuckling. "It's quite fine. Do you want to speak to it?"  
  
"You jerk," Bruce was repeating over and over. "You pathetic jerk!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Johnny said, laughing as Walt swung in suddenly. "Listen, meet me at my place."  
  
"You jerk," Bruce said.  
  
"I'll give it to you then, and it will be intact."  
  
"You jerk," Bruce told him.  
  
"I promise. And I need your help with something else. And after that you get your bowl back."  
  
"You pathetic jerk," Bruce alleged.  
  
"See you."  
  
"YOU JERK!"  
  
Johnny snapped the phone shut and put it back in his pocket. He saw Walt looking at him quizzically, and he said apologetically, "Uh, the bowl is Bruce's. He thinks it's worth something."  
  
"Oh," Walt said, as if not caring.  
  
Sighing, Johnny pushed the key back in the ignition and pressed on the gas hard. He hoped that the monster in the back felt it. 


	2. Fear

Here's my chapter and thanks to all my friends on the USA boards and shondie and DeadZoneRaven. You need to update your fic, man!  
  
~*~*~*~*Visions From Afar~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*Chapter Two~*~*~*~*~*  
As Johnny pulled up to his formidable, mansion-sized home, he spotted Bruce standing next to his PT Cruiser. He gave a short wave, and saw his friend's confusion at Walt riding next to him. Sensing his friend's confusion, Johnny gave a short nod. Bruce would understand. One way or another.  
  
"You got my bowl?" Bruce shouted as Johnny placed the car in park and nodded at Walt.  
  
"Yeah," Johnny said patiently. "The pieces are in my leg."  
  
"Hey Walt," Bruce said to Walt shortly, and then turned his attention back to Johnny. "Stop it! Where's my bowl?"  
  
"I told you, my leg." He got down from the Jeep and looked at Walt, who was standing around, looking uncertain of what he should do.  
  
"Johnny!"  
  
"Hi Bruce," Walt interrupted, "How have you been?"  
  
"Fine," Bruce told him, then shot a dirty look at Johnny. "But a certain person is denying my fortune."  
  
"Give it up," Johnny informed him. "Okay, Bruce. I'm going to have company for a bit."  
  
"We found a dog," Walt took over, explaining. "The owner was murdered. We figure that he was just stuck in the house all the time. I would keep him, but Sarah won't let him near her son and she's getting nasty about it. Johnny volunteered his services while getting your bowl, which, I believe, is in the backseat."  
  
"Walt!"  
  
"I'm a sheriff," Walt said wickedly, and Johnny was surprised at the change in his demeanor. "It's my duty to tell the truth."  
  
"Why, thank you Sheriff Bannerman," Bruce said immediately, sounding as if the sky had turned to gold. "I have to report a theft-"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Everybody's a critic." Johnny started to the back of his Jeep. "Well, guys, let's get the dog."  
  
"When does this concern me?" Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Since your bowl pieces got stuck in my leg." He met Walt at the back and put the back of his Jeep down. Johnny saw the black mask of a face and shuddered, remembering his reason for taking the shepherd in the first place. Suddenly he was tempted to tell Walt about his vision, but when he looked at Walt, and at Bruce, his face drawn in exasperation, he unexpectedly felt a wave of anxiety. He had never held back on his visions-except, of course, for one-, but now felt different. How would they respond if he told them that he had become the dog?  
  
"Hey Apollo," Walt said coaxingly, unlatching the cage door. Apollo's head stuck out the cage door instantly and Walt clipped his steel leash to the dog's collar. The dog turned its head sideways, to peer at Johnny, and then growled at him. "Gee, Johnny, he doesn't like you. Are you sure you want to do this?"  
  
"I'm positive," Johnny answered, trying to sound convinced, but inside his stomach was doing flips. "Come on Bruce, help."  
  
"My only duty is to my sacred bowl," Bruce pouted, coming forward. When he saw the monster head of the dog, he froze. "Jeez, that's one big dog!"  
  
"Yeah," Walt said, sounding unhappy. "I don't know if you should do this, Johnny. He doesn't like you and your leg . . ."  
  
"My leg's fine," Johnny declared, determinedly limping towards the side of his house. "Positively beautiful. We can put it in my back yard."  
  
"Apollo," Walt corrected. "His name is Apollo."  
  
"Fine." Johnny reached the gate and reached over to unlatch it. "He'll have a grand time digging up my backyard." He stepped lightly out of the way as Walt, holding the leash, walked into the backyard, unclipped the dog from his leash, gave him a final pat on the head, and came back out. Johnny slammed the gate shut.  
  
"You sure you're okay with this?" Walt repeated.  
  
"Yes, Walt, I'm positive," Johnny said again, watching as the dog put his nose between a gap in the gate and whined. "We'll get along just fine."  
  
"There a reason you're doing this Johnny?" Walt suddenly asked and when Johnny turned his head away, Walt's eyes were hard fires. "Sarah said you hated dogs."  
  
"And I said that I used to," Johnny said easily, starting back towards his Jeep. "You two just sounded torn up about everything and I thought I could help."  
  
"Haven't you helped enough lately?"  
  
Johnny turned his head at the sharpness in Walt's tone. Walt was eyeing him coldly and Johnny's mind turned at the thought. What did he mean? They stood for a moment, staring at each other.  
  
"What do you mean, Walt?" Johnny finally asked carefully.  
  
For a moment, Walt seemed to be on the verge of blurting something out, but then his eyes cooled, and he straightened. "Nothing, Johnny. Nothing."  
  
"Hey you guys." Bruce was yelling at them from the driveway. "You coming or what?"  
  
"Yes." Johnny started forward, his heart beating faster than usual. "Yes, we're coming." He looked back at Walt, who was telling the dog good-bye through the gate. This was becoming too edgy. Walt was coming dangerously close to a truth that didn't need dredging up. Johnny went to his Jeep, Walt bringing up his heels, and the dog watching them from his prison of walls.  
~*~*~*  
  
~*~*~*  
  
~*~*~*  
  
~*~*~  
"So why the dog, John?" Bruce asked carefully once they were inside the house. Johnny was drinking water and watching the dog from his window as Apollo sniffed the yard in interest. "Any special reasons? Visions?"  
  
"Why, Bruce, you know me too well." Johnny turned away from the dog to his friend. He summed up Bruce in his mind quickly, and then sighed. "I guess I can tell you. You know me well enough not to laugh."  
  
"I always laugh at you Johnny," Bruce said dutifully. "It's what I do."  
  
"Jerk." Sighing again, Johnny's cool blue eyes went to Bruce's. "Well, here I go. To make it short and sweet, I touched the dog and had a vision."  
  
"Well, isn't that unusual?" Bruce muttered, but Johnny appeared not to notice.  
  
"And . . . Bruce, that dog saw the murder of his owner. He wasn't in the house all the time. He saw somebody murdering the lady." Johnny stopped and drew in his breath. Bruce was staring at him. Frustrated, Johnny threw up his hands. "Go ahead and laugh. It's stupid. I mean, a dog? What kind of vision can come from a dog?"  
  
"Zen, my man," Bruce responded.  
  
"That's it?" Johnny practically shouted. "I tell you about a murder and all you can say is "Zen?" What the hell is Zen anyway?"  
  
"Calm down, Johnny," Bruce soothed. "You're getting way ahead of yourself here. You see, Johnny, I'm not sure, but I think Zen preaches that all life is capable of thinking and processing thoughts. So, really, it's not that funny, Johnny. It's really serious. You should tell Walt."  
  
"Yeah, but Walt isn't a Zen wacko like you."  
  
"I'm hurt," Bruce mocked, clutching at his heart. "You hit me straight in the heart with that one, Johnny. Why haven't you told Walt? He's the sheriff for heaven's sake. He's the one that gave you the dog. Did you see who murdered her?"  
  
"No," Johnny answered truthfully, "but that's not the point. What would Walt say if I told him that the dog had told me who murdered her? Would he listen?"  
  
"Knowing Walt, yes," Bruce said promptly, coming over to stand next to Johnny's chair. "You're being overcritical, Johnny. I know I don't have to tell you how important it is that we tell Walt who killed the lady. He could kill again. Come on, say it with me, man: tell Walt. We catch the bad guy. We all live happily ever after. See, it works out nicely. Now what's the problem?"  
  
"I don't know," Johnny said listlessly. "Honestly, I don't know. It was just so freaky. How strange is it to tell another person, gee, you know what? Your dog doesn't like you because you don't exercise him enough. Better yet, your dog has a sudden urge to run off with the poodle next door, I suggest you keep him penned for the next couple of day."  
  
"You're worried about becoming a pet psychic?"  
  
"No . . ." Johnny was grasping at straws that were being pulled barely out of reach. "You don't know, Bruce. Nobody knows. It was just so strange to be . . . something considered inferior to a human."  
  
"I still don't get your problem, Johnny," Bruce said, allowing a touch of frustration to color his voice. "I really don't. It's cut and dried. Touch the dog and find out who murdered the lady. Nobody will question your methods afterwards because, as usual, you did something that benefited all. I don't get it."  
  
"I don't either." Johnny suddenly stood straight up and walked to the sliding glass door. "You good with dogs, Bruce?"  
  
"I guess." Bruce went over with him.  
  
"Can you hold him for me?"  
  
"Are you going to touch him?"  
  
"I'll see what I can do." Johnny unlocked the door and slid it open a fraction of an inch. "But I need you to hold him for me. He . . . hasn't taken to me much." He slid the door open another inch, very quietly.  
  
The dog's head came up from deep within Johnny's magnolias and his face went straight to the door. He immediately began to jog over. Johnny shut the door hard. When he looked up, Bruce was staring at him.  
  
"Okay, so it's official, I've grown another eye."  
  
"Are you afraid of dogs, Johnny?" Bruce was watching him closely.  
  
Johnny coughed and backed up as the dog stopped three feet from the door and started to bare his fangs. "No. ."  
  
The dog barked and Johnny scrambled back, almost tripping over his feet, dropping his cane.  
  
"Okay, you are seriously afraid of dogs," Bruce said, laughing. "You almost fell over."  
  
"So what? So I'm afraid of dogs. They scare me, okay. My dad's Lab almost bit off my foot, have I ever told you that? Since then, dogs don't really ring too nice a bell." Johnny slowly came forward again. "Just hold him for me, okay Bruce?"  
  
"Sure thing, Johnny," Bruce said, grinning at Johnny's discomfort. He slid the door open easily. "Watch me."  
  
"Ha ha," Johnny said resentfully as Bruce went out the door, holding out his hand and cajoling the dog.  
  
"That's a good boy. Come here, Apollo. You're a nice boy, aren't you? Good dog, come here." The dog immediately went forward to him after sniffing his hand. The bushy tail started to wag faster and faster and he was shaking his head playfully. "Nothing to it!" he shouted back at Johnny as the dog playfully started to scurry around. "He's a sweetheart, Johnny."  
  
"Sure he is. Hold him for me. I'm right out." Johnny quietly slipped out the door, Apollo still preoccupied with Bruce's lavishing attention. He held his cane as a defense weapon. Let him get through me now. I'll whack him across the head.  
  
Somehow, however, he doubted that his cane would do little to match 160 pounds of fur and teeth flying at him.  
  
"I've got him, John." Bruce's hand was clasped tightly around the steel collar around the dog's neck. Apollo's tail was still wagging and he was licking Bruce's hands energetically. "Come up slowly and touch him. Just do it lightly."  
  
His heart suddenly began to beat faster. His mouth went dry and he felt his legs seize up prematurely, and then he fought off the paralysis. Bruce had the dog's muzzle down, his eyes averted to the ground, his tail still furiously wagging.  
  
He was little less than two feet away from the monster. His breath was starting to catch in his throat and his legs felt ready to seize up again at any moment. He felt sweat break out on his forehead, cold and hot. He realized that he was slightly trembling.  
  
"C'mon, Johnny!" Bruce was urging loudly. "Hurry up, Johnny, just touch him! He won't hurt you!"  
  
The dog's head started to creep up and suddenly his tail stopped wagging and his ears pricked and his black masked face leapt up.  
  
Johnny threw out his hand and touched the dog's neck.  
  
*****His jaws closed around something soft and fleshy and the snarl in his throat was muted. Rain was pounding in his ears and so were loud screams. This human was attacking his own. This human was violating his property. He was not allowed to let earthly harm come to his human.  
  
He threw his weight up and against the attacker's body, his fangs going from the soft, fleshy arm and to the swollen abdomen. Something scraped against his fur, he felt sorrowing pain, and then he bit down again. More pain bit against him, but he continued to bite.  
  
Nothing stood between this man and his human.  
  
Something else plunged into his leg and he howled. *****  
  
Johnny stumbled back, reaching at his leg, holding it. The dog was starting to furiously leap at him, barking madly, his fangs bared, as Bruce threw him against the wall and held on.  
  
His world was colliding around him. His leg was in sharp, wicked pain and he could almost feel blood trickling from it. Two worlds were colliding into one: one of precise color, and one of dull, blurry black and gray. His world and the dog's were melding into one and spots broke into Johnny's vision as he still stumbled back, towards the door.  
  
Suddenly he felt himself falling again, and he connected with the tile of his richly furnished home. He groaned in pain and clutched at his leg, remembering agony and primitive need to protect. He pushed himself across the tile floor, on his hands and the leg that was not burning in hurt.  
  
He couldn't find the strength to lift himself up and off the floor. Dimly he heard Bruce come in and slam the glass door shut. All he could do was lie on the floor and breathe. 


	3. The Ark

Yes, I know it's short. But I figure I shouldn't leave you guys hanging anymore.  
  
~*~=visions. My retarded computer doesn't do italics.  
~*Visions from Afar~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Johnny, I really think that you need to go to Dr. Gibson," Bruce insisted, watching Johnny as he ran his fingers through his hair wearily. "Johnny, are you even listening?"  
  
"No," Johnny replied, getting up from the couch, the headache pounding behind his temples almost overwhelming him. "I'm not. I should tell Walt, you think?"  
  
"No more misgivings?" Bruce asked, raising his eyebrow as Johnny started to shuffle to the kitchen.  
  
"No." Entering the kitchen, Johnny reached for the phone. All he wanted to do was flop down into his king sized bed and fall into blissful sleep. He wanted to forget everything. The dog was just too much. He massaged his forehead as he dialed Walt's number. Too much, everything was just too much. "Walt?"  
  
"No," came the familiar voice. "It's Sarah. Johnny, is that you? You sound horrible."  
  
"Thanks, Sarah. Can you get Walt for me?" He watched as Bruce came in and went to his medicine cabinet. Johnny rose his eyebrows and started to tell him something when Sarah interrupted.  
  
"It's that dog, isn't it? Johnny, did it hurt you? Are you okay?"  
  
"Everything's fine, Sarah. Just go and get Walt for me, it's urgent."  
  
"Are you sure you're alright, Johnny?"  
  
"Sarah!" He listened in satisfaction as he heard a sigh. He turned to Bruce, who was combing through his medical cabinet. "What are you doing?"  
  
"You're bleeding," he replied. "I just noticed. Your arm."  
  
Johnny looked down at his arm. Indeed, blood was dripping from his arm. What a good day, he thought irritably. Days were not becoming very good for him. He examined the cut. It was shallow, and hadn't been bleeding much, but now it was coming out in steady trickles.  
  
"Oh," he said. "So you're going to fix me?"  
  
"Johnny," Bruce said, indignantly, as he continued to fish around in the medicine cabinet. "You forget my profession. It is my duty to help the injured. It is my commitment. It is my life's goal."  
  
"Oh, and I'm sure the money has nothing to do with it."  
  
"I work for free."  
  
"So the checks that come in the mail with my signature on it just happen to go to you?"  
  
Bruce coughed. "Um . . . I'm only sending them to charity organizations."  
  
"Nice leather jacket, Bruce."  
  
"I know, it cost me-"Bruce suddenly stopped, realizing the trap he had fallen into. He eyed Johnny. "You suck, Johnny."  
  
"I know. Walt?" He turned his attention back to the phone. "Walt?"  
  
"Yeah, Johnny, it's me. What's up?" He sounded a little irritated. "You're not going to give the dog back, are you? You said you had it under controlled."  
  
"I do," Johnny said quickly as Bruce finally closed the cabinet and started over to him with a bandage. "It's just that . . . something weird is happening." He almost closed his eyes at the lameness of his statement.  
  
"Well, um, Johnny, whenever anything concerns you, it's always weird." Walt's voice was humor ringed, but still irritated. "So what's up, Johnny? You getting weird vibes?"  
  
"Walt, you said the dog was locked inside the house when you found its owner, right?" Johnny blurted.  
  
"Yes." Walt sounded surprised. "We did."  
  
"That's not right. That's-Bruce!" His friend had grabbed his shirt sleeve and dragged it over to him on the counter.  
  
"It's bleeding," Bruce insisted, reaching down to keep his friend's hand steady.  
  
"What?" Walt asked, concerned.  
  
"Nothing, Bruce is pretending to-"  
  
Bruce's hand touched his skin.  
  
~*~*~ The sky was dark. Rain dripped from the foliage. He ran forward, panting hard. The place he was running through was vicious, dark and silent. It was just as he liked it. Nothing stirred. A lone car was parked by the sidewalk, and the street on his left was quiet. On his right, forest stretched into forest. Lonely and desolate, his very fine running conditions.  
  
Suddenly he heard something stirring in the brushes, something heavy and fast. He slowed, keeping his legs moving. Can't stop, he reminded himself, it will be harder to start. He started to peer into the green, which was sparkling with rain.  
  
Suddenly a man burst through green, small and wearing a green and black beanie. Suddenly the man in the beanie careened into him, driving him backward. He felt pain in his chest from the collision.  
  
"Watch it!" he said angrily. "Dude, where's the fire?"  
  
"Get out of my way," the man hissed. He was dressed in tan and green Army fatigues, with a black belt tightened around his waist. He could see nametag, but couldn't read it.  
  
"Fine!" He backed off angrily, watching the man, small and thin, get into the blue Honda parked on the street. He read the plate number in a rainy blur, ARK1 and nothing more. The car sped into the distance, exhaust coming from the back.  
  
Disgusted, he started to run again.  
  
~*~  
  
"Johnny?"  
  
Johnny blinked at Bruce, who was shaking him hard, trying to wake him up. He heard Walt's voice in his ear, "Johnny, you there?" He stared at Bruce.  
  
Bruce jerked his hand away from Johnny's skin, frightened it seemed. "Johnny, what did you see?" he said, his voice forcefully calm. "Are you okay?"  
  
Johnny nodded, barely. "You saw him," he said tonelessly, unaware the phone was still pressed against his ear. "Bruce, you saw him when he was trying to get away from the scene."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"The killer." 


	4. Tension

Here's the next part.  
  
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The car came into view, the bars breaking the crest of the street, black and white shining out. Dusk was approaching, but an hour of sunlight was still waiting. The car headed into the winding driveway and slowed at the curb.  
  
Johnny went out to meet Walt, Bruce at his heel. He was still shaky, his head still pounding. His bad leg was starting to ache now, and he leaned more heavily on his cane when he met Walt on the stairs.  
  
"So, Johnny," Walt said, his voice dry. "Taking animal calls now?"  
  
Bruce gave Walt a dirty look that was hidden by his hair. Johnny knew Walt was teasing, but he still felt odd. Damn, he thought he was over that though.  
  
"Yeah," he said, forcing cheerfulness. "I figure sooner or later I need to start working again."  
  
"Well, you always were the animal lover."  
  
Bruce seemed to have recovered his wit, for he answered, "He's Dr. Dolittle. The dog loved him so much he knocked him flat on the floor and wanted to play 'whoever gets the throat first wins.' It was so touching, seeing the two of them bond like that."  
  
"Johnny is one for animals," Walt agreed.  
  
"He'll end up marrying one someday, they're the only ones who can stand him," Bruce suggested.  
  
"Okay," Johnny interrupted loudly. "We are not a Save the Animals convention."  
  
"Right." Walt's voice had an amazing capability to turn from poking fun to serious. "Well, let's review, Johnny. Tell me what you saw."  
  
Johnny told him about the two visions, the first one at the car, and then the one in the backyard.  
  
"So you already knew about it before you left?" Walt said it like he didn't want to believe it. "Why didn't you say anything, Johnny? That's about three hours with letting a killer getting away!"  
  
Johnny hesitated and glanced at Bruce, who was off rescuing a snail that had gotten trapped between two cracks in the pavement. Poor snail.  
  
"Well . . . it was weird, Walt." He sighed. "It was just weird. It's the second vision from an animal, and this one for a long time, not like the first one."  
  
"First one?" Walt raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Bat in the cave, don't ask, and it was strange." He shook his head in frustration. "It just freaked me out, okay? I mean . . . it wasn't that I didn't think anybody would believe me or anything . . ."  
  
"Fair enough," Walt said, "but Johnny, you know I'd believe you. If you told me I was going to be hit by a truck, I'd believe you. I'd personally lock myself in my room and chain myself to a wall to keep me from going outside."  
  
Johnny was touched by Walt's admission, but he didn't say anything else.  
  
"Okay, Johnny," Walt sighed. "So the dog saw the murder. We found him in the house."  
  
"Meaning the guy must have put him back in," Johnny supplied, watching in agitation Bruce pluck the snail up and put it in Johnny's sanctuary of flowers. "Not too difficult, is it?"  
  
"No." Walt closed his eyes. "The door was locked. We dusted the keys on the girl, but he must have cleaned them. But why would the dog go back with her killer? Why would he even bother to put the dog back? Dogs can't talk." He stopped, then looked at Johnny guiltily. "Well, John, not really."  
  
"I never claimed they could," Johnny answered a bit harshly. "But I do know that Bruce did see the guy."  
  
"Bruce, get over here and quit messing with the bug," Walt told him.  
  
"It's not a bug. It's a snail. And it deserves to be rescued. Some kid could have tortured it, you know? Kids can be really mean sometimes, I know. So now it's safe, it has a nice home-"  
  
"Eating my flowers," Johnny quipped.  
  
"It's not like you take care of them anyway." Bruce waved a hand.  
  
"Bruce, what did you see?" Walt raised his voice, cutting through the banter of the two friends.  
  
Bruce looked at Johnny. "I'm not exactly sure. I remember that I was running that day. I remember the guy pushing through the bushes. It was really sudden. He bumped into me, ran to his car, and drove off like he was crazy. He wore fatigues."  
  
"Army," Johnny said. "No name tag, or at least not one visible. He got in a blue Honda. Half of the license plate said ARK1."  
  
"Jeez, Johnny, you should have been there," Bruce said dryly. Johnny afforded him a tight look.  
  
"Did you get anymore?" Walt asked. "Other than the ARK1? If we had the number, it would be easier."  
  
"No," Johnny said. "But how many blue Hondas with the plate ARK1 can there be?"  
  
"It depends," Walt said grimly. "What kind of plates?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"So we don't know. Heck, the guy could be in Canada by now. I know ARK is popular. It could be Noah's ARK, the ARK angel, ARK is god or something. People like using nice words. The one you saw could have been an I or something. There's a lot of things."  
  
"ARK is god?" Bruce frowned. "You hinting at something, Walt?"  
  
"Bruce, go away," Walt said, dismissing him with a hand. "Do you have anything more?"  
  
"No," Johnny said. "I can try the dog again . . . I guess."  
  
"He's afraid of dogs," Bruce piped.  
  
Walt nodded. "I know."  
  
"Okay, that was uncalled for. I think I'll just go inside and lock you out."  
  
Johnny leaned on his cane and started back inside the house determinedly.  
  
"John, are you alright?" Walt's voice came from behind him, concerned. "You look a little wobbly."  
  
"My leg hurts, but I'm fine," he replied. "You just go on talking about my phobia of canines. Heck, talk about my phobia of stuffed ones, figurine ones, glass ones, collectable ones, heck, talk about my phobia of Lassie and how I think she was the one who set Timmy up in the accidents and saved him to make herself look good."  
  
"Johnny?"  
  
"Yes, Walt?"  
  
"You have way too much time to think."  
  
"Thank you, Walt." He continued his limp into the house. He wanted his Advil and then he wanted to sleep. A good sleep would cure him of any ailments he felt. "Guys, I'm going to go and lay down. I don't feel too well."  
  
"Johnny!" Walt raced to catch up with him. He looked uncomfortable and Johnny's heart pitched when he realized what Walt was going to ask him.  
  
"Walt, I thought I said this was over," he sighed. "No more touching police stuff. I know it's only a ploy to spend time with me. They're dates to you."  
  
Walt looked at him.  
  
"Okay, fine. What do you have? Is it at the station?"  
  
Walt looked almost hurt. "Actually, I was wondering if you could touch the dog again, John." 


	5. Snake

Hey, guys.  Here's my new chapter, I hope you enjoy it.  For the record, I own nothing but the dog.

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Visions From Afar

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Johnny tried not to glance at Walt as he led them into the house.  His head was aching horribly, as if he had just woken up in bed with a hang-over and a strange woman in the other bed.  Now, he though wryly as he set into the kitchen, that's only happened once. 

"I hope you're treating the dog well," Walt said loudly as Johnny came to a rest besides the sliding door.

"Oh, he's a pampered prince," Johnny said sarcastically, "when's he's trying to kill me."

"Johnny, dogs don't hold grudges," Walt said, smiling tensely at Johnny.  "He must smell your fear."

"I don't think I'm going to do this.  I think I'll kick you out now and you can find your own killer."

Walt didn't reply; Bruce coughed a little cough and started to examine the pictures adorning the kitchen's walls.  The clock on the wall ticked loudly a minute farther into time.  The refrigerator hummed loudly, and the ice in the ice maker crashed down.  The air conditioner came to life and cool air drafted from the grille above toward the trio who stood poised as if in limbo.

Finally Johnny said angrily, "Fine!  I'll touch the dog!"

Walt's eyes carefully slid away from Johnny to Bruce's face.  "You know, he's all so noble, it's endearing."

"Yes," Bruce agreed.  "It's very."

"Stop it!"  Agitatedly, Johnny flicked the lock of the door up and slid it back gently.  Resting on his cane, trying to ignore the pain in his head and the throb of fear in his heart, he cracked it open another notch.  The dog was nowhere in view, but Johnny didn't trust first glances.  The dog could be waiting just on the other side of the brambly plants his mother had planted, or just beyond the huge flower pot that he had broken as a child and his mother had been too attached to throw it away; instead, she had restored it, and now the dog was probably lurking just out of his eye's reach, claws and teeth ready to rip, tear, strip away flesh. . .

"I'll go first."  

From the corner of his eye, Johnny could see Walt watching him studiously, as if his face would hold some sort of answer to whatever question Walt had in mind.  Maybe this was what they looked like every time they suspected he had a vision; he didn't know, he had never bothered to ask.  Maybe now was a good time for asking.  Yes, now was a very nice time. . . .

You're wasting time, Johnny told himself as Walt gracefully sidled between Johnny's hand and the door.  You're wasting time and you know it.  You're being a coward because you're afraid.

Wanting to scream from the lack of fairness, he pushed Walt none too gently aside.  "No," he said heavily, "I need to touch the dog."

"At least let us hold him," Walt protested.

"Yeah," Bruce chimed in.  "You're scared sick of the dog, Johnny; it's all over you face."

Johnny desperately wanted to grab hold of the life raft that Walt held over his head.  He wanted desperately to listen to Bruce and admit that he was scared to his stomach.  The fear was a phobia, it wasn't just fear.  It had to be a phobia, just had to be.  He never felt fear so strongly like this before.  

"Alright, I'll get Apollo."

There was a gentle sound as the door opened and Walt stepped boldly out.

Startled, Johnny made a grab for him.  "Walt, wait!"

But Walt had already gone.  He bent low at the knees, his uniform puckering at the edges.  He whistled lowly and called, "Here, Apollo! Here, boy!"  He clapped his hands energetically.

"I'm going to hurt him," Johnny muttered silkily, dousing the small flame of anger inside him.  "I am going to hurt him so bad he's not going to be able to walk . . ."

"Johnny," Bruce said, his voice gentle, as if Johnny would break if he spoke too loud.  "We're trying to help you."

Johnny didn't answer him; his eyes were trained on the brown and black fur bundle that bounded up enthusiastically from behind Johnny's flower bed.  At the sight, he started to feel the fear that had become reacquainted with during the past day; it slithered up through his veins, choking his throat, his head starting to swirl dangerously.  It was a deadly, violent snake that had lain dormant for years, yet to be reawakened with the thing known only as vengeance.

Walt grasped the dog's neck and collar, holding firmly.  The dog was trying to lick at Walt's face, as he turned over his shoulder and called, "Alright, John.  Come on and let's see what happens."

The snake twisted around his legs and held him in a vise.

"Go on, Johnny," Bruce said from his side, and suddenly gave him a light push forward, but enough for him to stumble forward.  Johnny looked back at him murderously, but he shrugged, almost noncommittally.  "Hey, we tried to help you."

"Oh, just shut up."

The snake tightened, scales clicking against his legs, cool and wet skin that was vile and disgusting and danger.

"Hurry up, John, he's not going to stay up like this forever."  Clucking his tongue and cooing, Walt barely constricted the dog from jumping up and pawing at his face.

Move.  Just go forward and touch him.

Holding the cane out protectively, but making a show as if he were only tired, Johnny took a step forward.  His shoes clicked softly on the red brick carpet that made up the patio.  Gritting his teeth, fighting off the snake that was cutting off his airways, he took another tentative step forward.  The dog, five feet away, was busy jumping at Walt, his tongue flicking the air, his tail swishing so fast that Johnny feared that if he came into contact with it, it would send him flying.

He took another step.

The dog stiffened for a moment.

Johnny stiffened.

"DOWN, Apollo!  DOWN!"

Apollo rigidly looked up at Walt, his dark eyes peering up at Walt's face.  Johnny could see the muscles bulging beneath the skin.  Compared to that, Johnny might as well be a Chihuahua.  He might as well be a flea.  He might as well be a cat: a ginger skinned cat, a cat whose leg was maimed, easy prey for a dog so strong and large. . 

"Johnny!"  Bruce's voice was a harsh whisper.  "Go on already!"

Ginger skinned cat, alright, move like a cat.  Eat the snake.

He covered the distance between himself and the dog in a headlong lurch.  His cane dragged along the brick patio, producing a loud, grating sound.  Instantly the dog stiffened.  His magnificent head drew up, and his perfectly shaped triangular ears moved forward.  Black lips drew back to revel sharp, white cones of perfect deadliness.

Walt's hand tightened.

"Now, Johnny!"

The snake reared, opened its fanning mouth, and bit.

The ginger skinned cat shriveled, hissed, failed.

"JOHNNY!"

The dog lunged.

Johnny felt frozen, and for a moment, a rhyme he had heard long ago floated into his memory:_oh__ kitty kitty cat, my darling little kitty kat, can't you just look at me?  My darling kitty kat, won't you go and chase that little rat and put him to bed?  Won't you go and make him dead, my little kitty_

"JOHNNY!"

A hand clasped on Johnny's wrist.

------"_Maybe we should just chuck the dog into the pound," Roscoe said doubtfully, his eyes still on the chained monster in the corner, who was watching them with intelligent eyes._

_"His owner's just been killed," Walt said, and Johnny felt the surrealism that came with every vision.  Awkwardly, he gazed around.  He was in a small house.  A narrow hallway led into what looked like a living area or a bedroom.  A kitchen stood immediately to his left, while a stairway to his right led up to a second floor.  The kitchen was crowded with people, as well as the hallway further along.  Only Deputies Fisher and Roscoe, and Sheriff Bannerman stood in the landing of the stairs.  The front door was taped off by yellow police tape and there were more people racing around outside.  The dog lay chained in the corner of the stairs, chained firmly to the banister, tethered by a steel chain._

_Johnny glanced up the stairs, and saw nothing but emptiness. Apparently Walt had not taken the time to head up the stairs quite yet._

_"We can at least show a little compassion," Walt said, and motioned outside.  "Go and head off the reporters, Roscoe.  We have to hurry.  I want the body taken immediately into custody.  You know the drill.  Dust, do the usual stuff.  Clean here, and then I want you to head upstairs.  But dust here first."_

_There was a collective sigh from Roscoe and Fisher, and then they both headed out into the crowd.  Walt remained for a moment, his eyes troubled as he gazed upon the watching dog in the corner.  "It's okay, fella," he said quietly.  "Everything's okay."  Massaging his temples, he stepped into the kitchen._

_Vainly, Johnny looked around.  He peered up the stairs.  Without realizing why he was doing it, he stepped around the dog.  He felt no fear, and had few moments to contemplate why.  He headed up the stairs quickly, gazing upon the blue wallpaper.  Pictures lined the walls.  They were pictures that had been bought, pictures that were filled with a dog and a young woman.  There was one picture that contained what Johnny could guess was a family, but most of the frames were filled with the pictures a store had already put in them.  It was as if the murdered woman had simply bought the picture frames, hadn't bothered to fill them with her own life memories, and put them up on the walls._

_Johnny continued his trek swiftly.  He stopped on the landing that lead up to the top floor.  There were more store bought pictures here, stiffly placed on the wall, reflecting paid memories of life and happiness.  Whatever this woman had been, it seemed she had had only her dog and her small house.  There was one picture of the family, but it was old and tarnished, as if it was a picture that had been stung by water and restored; its edges had been hued with red._

_The pictures here were not different.  Children smiling for the camera, in stiff polo shirts, hugged by a man and woman, wearing the same kind of shirts; a woman in a field of tall grass, smiling as though she wished she were dead, a light breeze picking the tops of the grass; up-standing trees, beautiful trees, tall and red, in which a man wearing green stood, smiling lazily at the camera, holding up two fingers in the universal peace sign._

_The picture of the man.___

_It startled Johnny.  Glancing once more up the stairs, he scrutinized the picture, trying vainly to see in the dim light that filled the house.  The man in the picture was veiled in shadows, veiled by the awning branches of the tall trees that filled the whole of the picture.  The man seemed blended in with the green of the forest.  There were darker splotches on the clothes he wore.  This picture seemed store bought as well: it was made to perfection, white lining the edges, restored to its fullness, in a cheap frame.  _

_But for some reason, Johnny sensed it was not.----_

"JOHNNY!"

RAR!  RARR!  RAR!

Gasping, Johnny stumbled back as the dog leapt viciously, barely restrained by Walt's arm.  The hand that had loosely grasped Johnny's wrist fell off as Walt restrained the dog by both arms, yanking him back, yelling, "OFF, APOLLO!"

"Johnny!"

Another hand grabbed Johnny, pulled him back toward the sliding door and the house.  Bruce pulled him back by the collar of his jacket, yanking him through the door and into the kitchen.  Once inside, Bruce threw Johnny to the side and slid the door shut.  Panting, he told Johnny, "John, that dog really does not like you."

Johnny ignored him and gazed outside.  No ginger skinned cat this time; that cat hadn't fallen prey yet to the vicious dog. But he'd seen enough.  The sharp suspicion the vision had set on him rose.  It wasn't the dog that had provided this crucial clue; he hadn't even had to touch the monstrous canine.  

Sweet relief came first, followed closely by a wave of guilt.

The snake had coiled him, trapped him, and he had let it.  He had fallen into the fear and had not been able to claw out of the coils.  He had not been able to touch the dog.

Suddenly the sliding door slammed shut and Walt turned to Johnny, his face angry.  "What the hell were you thinking, Johnny?  You could've touched him right then and it would have been over with!"

"Walt, listen, Johnny's afraid of him," Bruce broke in.  "Don't give him a hard time."

Walt still seethed.  "But there's a killer out there, and Johnny can help!  Just because he's a dog doesn't mean he's different from anything else."

"Walt," Johnny interrupted, and both Bruce and Walt looked at him.  "Walt, I need to go to the house."

"What?"  Walt clearly misunderstood.  "No, you're touching that damn dog if I have to cut him up and feed him to you . . ."

"That's cruelty to animals, Walt."

"Shut up, Bruce, Johnny, please-"

"No, Walt, I had a vision when you touched me."

There a skip of silence.

"Oh."

"So can we go now?"  Suddenly he started talk, determined to turn the subject away from the fear cast that had snaked around him when he had been outside on the patio.  "I mean, you're right, we're wasting time, we can go and get the killer now.  I just have to get to that house and see.  I have to go and see something.  Maybe I can touch-"

"What did you see, Johnny?" Walt asked.

"I'm not sure.  I'm not sure, but I can find out."

Walt doubtfully looked outside, at the dog who was sitting delicately by the door, looking up at them.  There was only a twinge of sunlight left. The sky had been painted purple and gold, but now it was a bare black.

"It's late," he said finally.  "I don't know if we should now, and besides, you look tired, Johnny.  I think we should wait for tomorrow.  You get some rest, Johnny."

Frustration welled inside Johnny.  "Come on, Walt, there's a killer-"

"He's right, John," Bruce jumped in.  "You looked pretty bad.  You're limping pretty bad.  Why don't you get some sleep and then tomorrow we go?"

"But-"

"No buts," Walt said sternly.  "Get some sleep, have a beer, relax.  I'll feed the dog and then you rest.  Bruce, you stay with him until later."

"I don't need a baby-sitter!" Johnny lashed.

"No," Walt said, raising an eyebrow at him as he stepped away.  "But you probably do need to rest and Bruce will see to that."

"I do expect to be paid overtime," Bruce said, smiling at him as he headed away with Walt.

Growling, Johnny looked down at the dog, who was still sitting by the door, gazing up at Johnny.  The snake which had briefly fallen dormant rose inside again.  Shivering as he gazed into the two pupils of black, Johnny quelled his frustration with Walt and followed his two friends. 


	6. Shards of Glass

A/N: Here's my new chapter, and I'm sorry it's taken so long! It's a little short, but I hope it helps!  
  
__ Visions From Afar __ Chapter Six __  
  
"Are you ready to go?" Walt asked apprehensively.  
  
Johnny considered telling him no, that he would rather walk back inside the house and fall asleep again, but he denied the urge. "Yes," he said. "I'm ready to go." He glanced at Bruce standing behind him. "Your little puppy didn't leave me until about ten last night," he said sourly. "And he came back this morning before I was even up. How much did you pay him?"  
  
Walt shook his head. "Someday you'll realize people do care about you," he said and turned his back on Johnny. "Did you feed Apollo?"  
  
"I did," Bruce piped from behind Johnny as he limped forward. "He's happily munching away."  
  
"That's good," Walt said fondly as he went to his police cruiser and Johnny and Bruce followed him. "He's a very good dog, you know."  
  
Johnny snorted. "I'm glad you think that, Walt," he said darkly. "You keep thinking that."  
  
They got in the car and Walt started to drive toward the highway.  
  
"Where exactly is this house?" Johnny asked, as they started to slip away from civilization.  
  
"It's not too far out," Walt answered. "She was sort of a hermit, really. Nobody really ever saw her, except when she had to buy groceries. Her house is half a mile away from her neighbors' and they say she really wasn't the social type. They say she had only her dog and they never saw any family members, or even anybody at the house."  
  
"It's starting to rain again," Johnny muttered as the racing ground beneath the car grew dark with water. "What was her name?"  
  
"It was Sandra Anderson," Walt said as he exited the highway and started into a narrow road. "We've tried to contact some of her family, but there hasn't been any luck. It was like she cut off contact with them."  
  
Johnny looked up sharply. "You can't find any family? Was there a boyfriend or anything?"  
  
Walt cast a glance at Johnny. "You can't tell enough of her already? She never left her house. She had only her dog. There's not family, as far as we can tell. She moved her a few years ago and even then, she talked to no one. I'm pretty sure she doesn't have a boyfriend." He parked the car in front of a small, quaint, two-storey house that gave the radiance on homeliness.  
  
"I have doubt of that," Johnny murmured and threw open his door. Two deputies ran up immediately to his door. They stopped when they saw him.  
  
Roscoe seemed to shrink away from Johnny as he stepped from the car. "Hello, Mr. Smith," he said, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. He looked relieved when he saw Walt and said, "Sheriff, there's been no disturbance. The press has been poking around, but I think we've gotten rid of them for now."  
  
Walt nodded gravely and came around to Johnny's side. "Fisher, are there any prints, besides the victim's?"  
  
"No, sir," said the other deputy, glancing at Johnny. "The lab has reported nothing and there's been on luck in finding any living relations."  
  
Walt inclined his head and turned to Johnny. "What were you talking about?" he asked, starting to usher them toward the front door perched at the top of a short flight of stairs, Bruce trailing along after them. "About a boyfriend?"  
  
Johnny shook his head. "I can explain it better when I get inside," he said, letting Walt push ahead to unlock the door. "I'm not even sure if it's anything, but I have to see it to be sure."  
  
"What did you see yesterday?" Walt asked, unlocking the door and pushing it open.  
  
"I'll show you right now," Johnny answered and stepped inside, a draft of cold air hitting him immediately. It was just as he had seen it in his vision: a dark hallway leading into what he could now see was a small living area, a kitchen, empty, and a staircase leading up into a deep darkness. He went immediately to the staircase.  
  
"Don't touch anything!" Walt warned. "Roscoe, turn on the lights in here! What have you been doing? We're blind!"  
  
"We were outside in the car, sir!" Roscoe said nervously as Johnny charged up the stairs. "You told us just to watch the house and wait for a report from the lab. I can assure you, nothing's been inside or out of this house!"  
  
"Just turn on the lights," Walt said irritably. "We're blind as bats in here."  
  
"Bats aren't blind in the dark," Bruce interjected. "I don't understand why people say that, when bats can see just fine in the dark with their echolocation. It's a common misunderstanding-"  
  
"Why are you here, Bruce?" Walt asked exasperatedly as he stopped on the bottom step, watching Johnny climb to the landing.  
  
"I'm here for moral support."  
  
"There are no morals- Johnny, what is it?"  
  
Johnny had stopped and was staring walls.  
  
"Johnny?" Walt asked again, starting to slowly step up. "What's wrong?"  
  
Johnny stared in disbelief at the pictures adorning the walls. "It's not here," he said softly. "Why isn't it here?"  
  
"What isn't here?" Walt snapped, stepping besides him. "Damn it, Roscoe, why is it so cold in here?"  
  
Roscoe didn't reply and Bruce answered, "You should probably close all the windows. Open windows make for cold houses and- "  
  
"SHUT UP, BRUCE!" Walt roared. "Johnny, what is it?"  
  
"I saw a picture when I touched you yesterday," Johnny finally answered, his eyes frantically the walls. "But it's not here."  
  
"What was the picture of?" Walt asked impatiently, glancing down the stairs. "We can't even see in here! ROSCOE!"  
  
"There's a shortage, sir," Roscoe answered. "Fisher is working on it outside."  
  
"Hurry it up," Walt grumped. "Johnny, what did you see?"  
  
"Do you see how these pictures are all store-bought?" Johnny asked, pointing at the pictures.  
  
"I can't see anything," Walt growled and unclipped his flashlight from his belt, shining it on the wall. He examined the pictures for a moment. "They are," he said, frowning. "She just bought the pictures at the store and put them on the wall." He pointed. "Except for that one. That's a picture of her and the dog." He quickly looked at the other pictures. "There's one of a family, but that could be hers or store bought. The dog one is the only one she took," he said. "The other ones came with the frames."  
  
"Yes," Johnny said. "But in my vision, I saw another one. It was real and she restored it, even. I was asking if she had a boyfriend because the picture was of a man in front of a lot of trees. I couldn't see, because it was dark, but it looked like he was wearing Army fatigues."  
  
Johnny and Walt locked eyes.  
  
"But the picture isn't here," Walt said slowly. He yelled down the stairs, "Roscoe, come up here!"  
  
The deputy barreled up the stairs and Johnny peered up into the darkness a little further onto the second floor.  
  
"I'm going up to look," he said abruptly and started to limp as quickly as he could.  
  
"No, Johnny, wait for me- Roscoe, did anyone take anything from this house?"  
  
Johnny climbed the stairs, coming to rest in a lame carpeted hallway. There were only three doors on the floor and one he could immediately see was a bathroom, empty, and the other door he could see was linen closet, the door wide open. The door at the end of the hallway was halfway open, shivering slightly.  
  
He stood in the deep dark, pondering. He felt vulnerable here, chilled. He felt, almost eerily, as though someone was watching him. The door at the end of the hallway again shivered.  
  
Johnny watched the door, feeling his hair slowly fall back as he felt a sudden burst of cold air and Walt bellowed from the landing, "WHERE ARE THE LIGHTS AND WHY IS IT SO COLD IN HERE?"  
  
Johnny suddenly felt a sick feeling drop into his stomach.  
  
"Johnny, I'm coming up there!" Walt yelled and the flashlight beam swung up the stairs.  
  
Johnny felt a chill crawl suddenly up his arm and he started to walk, shaking, toward the door.  
  
"Johnny, wait!"  
  
Johnny reached the door as Walt came up behind him. "Johnny, what are you doing?"  
  
Johnny reached out and opened the door.  
  
The lights snapped back on.  
  
The door creaked open.  
  
On the floor laid the shattered remains of the window, which had been bashed in and broken violently. On the floor was dried blood.  
  
Walt came up behind Johnny and looked into the room.  
  
"Somebody broke in here!" he cried, grabbing his gun from the holster. "ROSCOE!"  
  
There was a loud pounding of footsteps and Bruce and Roscoe raced up.  
  
"I told you there was an open window," Bruce said loftily as Roscoe blanched.  
  
"Somebody broke in here," Walt said, glaring at his deputy. "Why wasn't I told? Why was- Johnny?"  
  
Johnny was frozen, his hand on the doorknob, his eyes stark and glassy as he stared into the room.  
  
"He's having a vision," Bruce said quietly. 


	7. Only Confusion

**I'm sorry it took so long for this chapter, guys.  Unfortunately, my computer got sick about a month ago, and I haven't been able to write or post anything.  Before that, what can I say?  I still liked my story, but my interests were elsewhere.  But now my interest has come back to this.**

**I hope you guys enjoy this chapter.  It's a little confusing, even to me, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.**

**Disclaimer: I own only Jason and Janice Johnson, and the dog, of course.  I am making no profit form this work; this is solely for entertainment purposes.**

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**Visions From Afar**

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**Chapter Seven**

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**_It was dark and damp in this room.  A strange glow filled the room, but he still could see nothing except dark and unrecognizable shapes.  He could hear dripping water, and to his left, he could hear a quiet sobbing._**

****

**_Swallowing, he turned toward the sound of the sobbing, heading along in the darkness blindly.  When he stood directly above the sobbing, he peered down, but to his dismay, he still saw nothing except the black shape.  From the sound, he thought that the figure was one of a woman or girl.  _**

****

**_A slamming sound came from somewhere above, sharp, painful light suddenly flooding the room, and he had to shield his eyes.  Backing up away from the figure, he looked blearily up and saw a sodden and cracking wooden staircase.  The crying figure stopped as he heard heavy boots clumping down the stairs._**

****

**_"Are you here, Sandra?" called a voice in a mild tone._**

****

**_The girl gave a petrified little whimper and tried to scuttle further into the dark._**

****

**_"Oh, come on _****_Sandy_****_.  You loved this place.  You always did.  Where are you now, _****_Sandy_****_?  Come on, doll.  I won't hurt you."_**

****

**_Sandra Anderson breathed hard, and in the little light available now, he saw her holding her clasped hands above her head._**

****

**_"_****_Sandy_****_, don't make me come and get you.  You won't want that," continued the voice pleasantly._**

****

**_Sandra uttered a soft cry and he was sure that the voice heard it._**

****

**_"I hear you, Sandy."  The boots clumped down another stair.  "I hear you, doll.  Ready?"_**

****

**_Sandra let out a mournful cry._**

****

**_"Not ready," said the voice distastefully.  "Alright then, _****_Sandy_****_.  You can stay down here for a little longer.  I'll come back for you in a little while."_**

****

**_The boots started clumping in the opposite direction, and then stopped, and the voice said, "Your little doggie was a becoming quite the nuisance.  He's lying about a foot away from the door, _****_Sandy_****_.  He's dead, though."_**

****

**_Sandra cried aloud, hard, and said, "Jason!"_**

****

**_"Sorry, Sandy."_**

****

**_The boots clumped up, Sandra cried again, and the man hoisted himself up . . . through the door?_**

****

**_(through?)_**

****

**_As the square of light vanished, Johnny went toward Sandra, looking up to see a wall in front of him, and a little . . . square?  A window, it was a square window._**

****

**_(where?)_**

****

**_Staring up at the square window, he thought he saw light filtering through its filthy surface, and then in the distance, he thought he heard a sound, a sound, an animal-like sound . . ._**

****

**__**

****

**He was cold.**

**The window was broken open ahead of him, blood staining the floor.**

**Blinking, he looked around to find Walt and Bruce staring at him intently.**

**"There was a man," he said, confused.  "There was a man, but I couldn't see him.  They were in a room, a dark room.  A staircase, he went down a staircase, through a window . . . she was there, he didn't know if she there, she was hiding.  I . . . it was . . ."**

**"Take it easy, John," Walt said.  He sounded uneasy.  "Just take it easy.  You look horrible."**

**"No, I know . . . it was a . . . oh, I don't know what it was.  It was confusing."**

**"Take your time," Walt repeated, stepping gingerly into the room.  "Are you alright?"**

**"I feel fine," Johnny said.  He stared at the blood.  The square in the ceiling, he knew what it was, he knew, but he couldn't name it.  And the man, and why had she been hiding?  Jason.**

**"His name was Jason," he said slowly.  "She was hiding in . . . a basement!"**

**He looked at Walt.  "A basement!  With one of those trapdoor type deals.  The hatch is in the floor and when you pull it up, you go down it into a basement.  She was in a basement!  She was hiding there, I think.  She was crying and then the trapdoor opened and Jason walked down.  He called for her, asked her to come up, and I don't think he was sure she was there.  He was trying to intimidate her, and it worked, she cried, and he knew.  He asked her to come up, but she didn't, and so he said it was fine, he'd be back, and he went back up the stairs."  Johnny stopped and frowned.  "He said that the dog was dead.  He said he'd killed the dog."**

**"Apollo?" Walt asked.**

**"It must be.  It has to be.  He didn't kill the dog.  The dog's in my backyard."  Johnny leaned against the door for support, suddenly tired.**

**"Alright," Walt said, noticing Johnny's weakness.  "Alright, Bruce, take John back to the cruiser and just sit there for a second.  Roscoe, get your lazy ass in here and collect this blood."  He looked hard at his deputy.  "We need to talk about this later, Roscoe, you and Fisher.  I want you to dust this room for any new prints, get that blood, and basically a 120, alright?  Get Fisher and I want Fisher to go through the bottom floor and look for any markings in the floor.  He's looking for a trapdoor that leads to a basement.  Got it?"**

**"Yes, sir," Roscoe replied thinly and headed down the stairs.**

**Walt looked around at Johnny and Bruce and asked, "Why are you still here?  You look awful, John.  Go down."**

**"No, Walt," Johnny said weakly.  "I know I can help.  Find the door and I can get something from it, I know I can."**

**"Johnny," Bruce said, grabbing his friend's elbow.  "Come on now, listen to the good sheriff.  Let's go."**

**Johnny looked into the persistent faces of his friends and sighed heavily.  "Alright, fine.  But you guys have better tell me if you find anything."**

**"Hey, I'm the sheriff, I can do whatever I want."**

**  
"Not if you want to find who killed ****Sandy****."  Johnny started down the stairs, Bruce at his heels.  Above them, Walt frowned, and Johnny looked up to see his face dashed in confusion.  "What?" he asked irritably.**

**"You called her ****Sandy****," Walt said.  "You called her ****Sandy**** and you don't even know her."**

**Johnny stopped, putting his hand on the wall.  "He called her ****Sandy**** . . ."**

**_There was_**

****

**_(steady drumming, rain)_**

****

**_The police cruiser was outside, but it didn't matter.  The cops were cheap, they wouldn't stray from their car in the rain._**

****

**_The place was clean, he suspected, but the gloves on his hands were new.  He had even worn gloves when he had opened the package.  Overly cautious, Janice had told him, but it didn't matter.  He had to be careful._**

****

**_(tinkling from upstairs, tinkling)_**

****

**_The glass from the window he'd broken.  He had tried to do it quietly, but he supposed that the window must have flapped in with the howling wind.  The sound was soft.  The wind should hide his movements._**

****

**_He crept to the picture he knew she kept on the wall._**

****

**_The picture with him in it._**

****

**_Johnny looked down at himself and saw green and black and brown fatigues.  The stitched nametag read JOHNSON._**

****

**"Jason Johnson," Johnny murmured aloud.**

**"What?"  Bruce prodded him forward.**

**"His name is Jason," Johnny said, stopping Bruce's advances and peering up the stairs at Walt.  "His name is Jason.  He wore Army fatigues, and the nametag said Johnson.  They could be his.  He knows someone named Janice."**

**"Jason Johnson?" echoed Walt.**

**Bruce looked up.  "You know a Jason Johnson?"**

**"Yes," Walt said, coming down the stairs rapidly.  "I went to the ****Police****Academy**** with him, but he dropped out halfway.  Said he was joining the Army and then was going to marry his girl."  He gaped at Johnny.  "His girl's name was Janice."**

**"Where do they live?"  Johnny steadied himself.  So they had found something.**

**"They still live in ****Bangor****," Walt said.  "At least I think so.  I arrested him last year for public drinking, but it was a bet.  He's a good guy."  His eyes narrowed.  "At least he was when I knew him.  Come on.  Change of plans.  We're going to pay a visit to Mr. Johnson and see if he knows anything."**

**Bruce cast a look at Johnny, a look so pathetic that Johnny had to grin at him, despite his tiredness.**

**"Tired?" he prodded Bruce lightly.**

**"No," answered Bruce forcefully.**

**Johnny grinned as Bruce rolled his eyes toward the heavens, and they walked down the stairs, out the door.**

****

**"This it?" Bruce asked.**

**"No," said Walt sarcastically.  "This is my dentist's."**

**"Hey, no need to get testy."**

**Ignoring them, Johnny studied the house.  White, with blue trimming along its eaves and sides, the house was a neat little square.  Half-bloomed flowers ran along the edges.  The grass, yellowing and dying, was starting to flood with the now lessening rain.  The hedges were messy, with hollows in the center, their roots sticking up from the poor and cracked dirt.**

**Johnny found Bruce's eyes and Bruce said, "Not exactly the lap of luxury, is it?"**

**"He worked for some repair service, last time I checked, when I arrested him," Walt said, frowning at Bruce.  "Why don't you stay here, Bruce?"**

**"How about not?"****  Bruce pushed open his door and stepped out into the rain.  "No way I have to stay behind while you two play detective."**

**"We're not playing detective.  I need Johnny, that's all."**

**"I don't like the sound of that."**

**"Oh, shut up.  Come on then.  We're getting soaked."**

**They walked up the cracked walkway to the chipped, peeling wood of the door. Walt rang the bell two times and then waited.  "Getting anything?' he asked Johnny.**

**Johnny looked around at the peeling paint and dead lawn.  "He doesn't like to do housework."**

**The door didn't open.  **

**"Knock," Bruce suggested, hugging his jacket more tightly around him.  "Maybe the bell doesn't work.  Looking at this place, I wouldn't be surprised."**

**Opening the patched screen, Walt rapped his knuckles against the door and waited.**

**Thunder rumbled in the distance.**

**"Is it _ever _going to stop raining?" Bruce grumbled.  "Last time I checked, we weren't due for another flood."**

**Walt looked gravely up at the sky.  "I won't be surprised if there weren't some downed power lines right now.  As much as I hate doing it, we're going to need to wrap this up quick.  Some people are going to be needing help, out in the rural areas.  Hopefully nothing's already flooded."**

**He banged his fist against the door and a loud, slightly hoarse voice called, "I'm coming, I'm coming, you bastards."**

**The door opened and Johnny stared at Jason Johnson.**

**Was it the same one who had taunted Sandra Anderson in her basement?**

**Johnny had never seen the murderer's face.  In the dark basement, there had not been sufficient light to see.  When he had seen him escaping in the vision when he had touched Bruce, the face had been only a blur.  And he hadn't seen the picture long enough to get a good look at the face.**

**Did he speak like Johnny remembered?  The voice in the vision had been oddly muffled, oddly strained.  Like he had been speaking through a mask.  **

**Something to cover his head.**

**"Walt?" asked Jason Johnson blankly.  "Sheriff?  Is something wrong?"**

**His green eyes, half shielded by his messy blonde hair, darted from Walt to Bruce and Johnny, and then settled back on Walt.  His hands burrowed themselves suddenly into his tattered jean pockets.  A package of cigarettes butted out from his vest pocket and Johnny found himself thinking that this man looked nervous.**

**"Nothing's the matter, Jason," said Walt, sticking out his hand.  "Glad you remembered me."**

**"How could I not?  Who went on to be Sheriff while one of me didn't?"**

**Walt looked almost guiltily at the man before him.  "None of that, Jason.  It's been awhile."**

**"Yessir, it has.  Except you arrested me last year."  The man's green eyes narrowed malevolently.**

**"My job," said Walt, now standing up a little taller.  "May we come in?"**

**"Who are they?" the man asked, pointing at Bruce and Johnny.  "They're not cops."**

**"No," agreed Walt.  "They're helping me in a case that we need to talk about with you.  This is Bruce Lewis, and this is Johnny Smith.  Can we come in, please?"**

**Johnson's eyes lingered on Johnny and Bruce a moment longer, and then he nodded, smiling a little, showing white teeth.  "Alright, then.  Come on in, then, Sheriff.  My wife's asleep, though, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't wake her."**

**"Of course."  Walt met Johnny's eyes, and the message was clear.  As he stepped into the foyer, water starting to drip from his hair, he let his hand graze casually over the desk in the little foyer.  Receiving nothing from the desk, he studied the room.  The room to his right was the living room, crowded with battered, tattered furniture and littered with colorful children's toys.  Behind that room came the dining room and the kitchen, but all he saw from that was a high chair and worn wooden table, full of marks and stains.  To his immediate left was a hallway, and down the hallway he could see three doors, two on the right, one on the left.  He assumed two must be rooms, the other a bathroom.  The foyer was tiled, but the tile was stained and scuffed.  The carpet was dark, but he thought that maybe it was at one time a pale cream, since he could see shavings of the color through the pale gray surface.  The colorful toys continued from the living area back into the kitchen and dining place, as well as marring the surface of the foyer and door.**

**Nothing important from this, but he saw this was clearly a house that needed to be either torn down or expensively renovated.**

**Shaking rain from his head, Walt entered and stood awkwardly in the foyer.  Johnson shut the screen and door, and then went into the living area.  "Sit," he said.  With searching eyes, he asked, "You want something to drink?  A beer?"**

**"No thanks, Mr. Johnson.  We're just here for a few questions, and then we'll be on our way."**

**Shrugging, Johnson sat on the worn armchair while Johnny, Walt, and Bruce took seats on the beaten couch.  They stared at each other for a moment.**

**"So," trailed Johnson, tapping his fingers against the chair.**

**"Did you ever know a Sandra Anderson?"**

**Johnson's eyes widened slightly, and then he growled, "Yeah.  What's wrong?"**

**Walt subtly hid surprise.  "How did you know Ms. Anderson?"**

**"I did work for her," answered Johnson, tipping back on the chair.  "Her house needed some fixing and she called my company."**

**"Hold on a second," Walt interrupted, and pulled out a pad of paper and pen.  "What company is this?"**

**Johnson stared at the paper.  "Am I being investigated for something?"**

**"No, of course not, what company is this?"**

**"What happened to Ms. Anderson, Sheriff?"**

**Walt looked uncomfortably around, and then said, "She was murdered, Jason.  We're just trying to close up any loose ends."**

**Johnny watched the man's reaction closely.  His eyes widened even more and he sat up in his chair.  "Murdered?" he echoed.  "How?"**

**Clearing his throat, Walt said, "I'm not at liberty to discuss this, Mr. Johnson.  I'm just trying to rule out any suspects."**

**"I'm a suspect?"**

**"No," Walt said hastily.  "But . . . er . . . we became informed that you did do work for her.  She was sort of a hermit, and we need to talk to anybody she was in contact with.  Like you said, you were in contact with her."**

**"My company hired me out," said Johnson dubiously.  "I don't see how that says anything about contact.  I hardly knew her.  She was a quiet little lady who said nothing.  I'm sorry to hear abut her murder.  She seemed sweet, and she made a mean cup of coffee."**

**"Well, then, I'd appreciate it if you cooperated, Mr. Johnson," Walt said forcefully.  "Now please, what company do you work for?"**

**"Shrouder Housework," supplied Johnson.  "Top dog's name is Marcos Cross."  He looked imploringly at Johnny and Bruce as Walt scribbled.  "But don't you know that?"**

**"Yes.  What kind of work did you do for her?"**

**"Basic stuff.  Cleaned her windows, trimmed her grass and shrubbery, unplugged her toilet and sinks, fixed her leaky faucets, that type of stuff.  The house was practically in shambles."**

**"How long ago did you do this?"**

**"Oh, I don't know.  Say, maybe a month ago."**

**Walt wrote another note.  "Did she say anything to you?"**

**"No.  Like I said, a quiet lady.  Sweet lady, and she made a mean cup of jo.  Her dog was a little mean runt, though."**

**"Her dog?"**

**Johnny felt his hands going sweaty.**

**"Yeah, her big ole Shepard dog.  Went bonkers at the sight of me.  She had to lock him up in the bathroom to keep him from getting at me.  Great, great big brute too."**

**Johnny felt beads of sweat moisten his hairline.**

**"Yes," said Walt retrospectively.  "Do you remember anything unusual?"**

**Johnson's head creased, and then he shook his head.  "No, nothing much."**

**"Do you--?"**

**The radio clipped to Walt's belt buzzed angrily.  "Excuse me," Walt said, standing up, unclipping the thing from his belt and hurrying away into the kitchen.**

**Johnny, Bruce, and Johnson sat in uncomfortable silence.**

**Johnny studied the toys in on the floor.  "So, you have kids?"**

**"Yeah," growled Johnson.  "Jason Jr.  Asleep with my wife."**

**"Lots of toys," Johnny said vaguely, picking one up.  "Very colorful."**

****

**_"Did you do it?" the dark-haired woman asked critically, handing the small rubber toy to the mewling baby cradled on her hip._**

****

**_The room was darkened, except for the one light in the hall.  The light didn't reach this dark corner of the room.  _**

****

**_"I did it," whispered the man in the shadows.  "I buried her.  Couldn't kill the dog, though.  I should've, but I didn't have any bullets left.  Locked it in the house."_**

****

**_"Good," said the woman, a smile dashing her face.  "That'll teach the bitch for trying to destroy you-me."_**

****

**_The man moved forward and embraced the woman, but his face was still swathed in shadows._**

****

**_"Love you, Mark," whispered the woman._**

****

**Johnny set the toy down.**

**"Yeah, now would you not pick that up?" asked Johnson, annoyed.  "My son chews that thing, you know."**

**"Sorry, it was stupid, we have to go now."  Ignoring Bruce's startled eyes and Johnson's angry ones, Johnny went to the door.  "Thanks for everything, I'll be going now."**

**Walt came out of the corner to find Johnny standing at the door.  "Johnny-?"**

**"I need to go . . . feed my dog.  Sorry about that, Mr. Johnson.  Come on, Bruce, come with me to the car."**

**Bruce stood up, smiling politely at Johnson, and followed Johnny as Walt turned to Johnson and said, "I don't know what the hell got into him but—"**

**Bruce shut the door and Johnny turned to face him.**

**"It wasn't him."  It couldn't be him.  The woman had talked about Mark . . . but then why had Sandra called for Jason in the basement?  And the woman, who was she?  Mrs. Johnson?  It had been in the living room, he was sure of it, that little transaction.  And Sandra had tried to destroy who?  Mark?  Who was Mark, and why was he in the Johnson's living room?  Why had Sandra called for Jason when Mark was the one who killed her?**

**"What do you mean, it wasn't him?  Would you mind explaining a bit?"**

**Walt opened the door a second later, face angry, saying, "What the hell was—"**

**"He didn't kill her.  At least, I don't think he did."  He explained briefly what he'd seen inside the vision.  "I don't get it!  Sandra called for Jason in the basement, but apparently it was this Mark who killed her.  And I don't know who the lady was either, but she was in this house, talking to his man, holding the baby.  It could be . . ."**

**"Janice," finished Bruce.  "But it still doesn't make sense.  Why would she call for Jason, if Mark was the one who killed her?"**

**"Let's continue this conversation in the car," Walt interrupted, staring at the now pouring sky.  "There's a flood out in the rural, and they need help.  I can't swing by your house, Bruce, so can you stay at Johnny?"**

**"Yeah, sure, whatever," Bruce said.  "I'm sure Johnny doesn't object."**

**"Drop him off at the flood."**

**"You're a jerk."**

**They went to the car, hands over their heads to shy away the rain, and when Walt put his foot on the gas tentatively, he said, "Okay, let's review the facts as we know them."**

**"I love it when he's all cop-like," Bruce grumbled from the backseat.**

**"Ignoring the jerk in the backseat, we'll continue.  Sandra Anderson was murdered outside.  Her dog attacked her pursuer, but then was taken back to the house and locked in, from the outside, might I add.  So they needed a key, presumably taken from Sandra.  Now, we know that Sandra was hiding inside her basement, trying not to be seen, when a man came down the stairs and taunted her.  He told her that he'd killed Apollo, and then Sandra yelled his name, which was Jason.  Right, Johnny?"**

**"Yes," Johnny said, massaging his temples.  "But we're also forgetting another important thing.  It might not have been Jason."**

**"Getting to that," Walt continued, "it could not have been Jason.  We go to Jason's house, where we learn that he did housework for her about a month ago, and that she made a mean cup of coffee.  Other than that, he says he has no contact with her.  He's our man, at least until now.  Now we know that a woman, presumably Janice, was talking in her living room to a man named Mark, holding her baby.  She said she loved him, and that she was glad that the bitch was dead for trying to ruin him.  Right, Johnny?"**

**"Right," Johnny said, mind working fast.  "So . . . I don't have a damned clue what the hell any of this is supposed to mean.  It makes no sense."**

**They were quiet for a long time.**

**"I can think of a few possibilities," Walt said, hesitantly.  "But I need to check some things out first."**

**"Go ahead, Walt, shoot.  We won't bite."**

**"No time."  The car pulled up in Johnny's soaked driveway.  "I'll call you guys later, probably tomorrow.  Take it easy.  You guys aren't my deputies, but I'm going to need you two tomorrow."**

**"Alright," Johnny said.  "We'll mull it over some."**

**"Try not too much," said Walt as they got out from the car.  "Get some rest.  You need it."  He said it looking directly at Johnny.**

**"Why does everybody think I'm about to drop dead again?" Johnny sighed as Walt pulled out into the street.**

**"'Cause we love you Johnny, that's all.  Now come on, we're going to freeze."**

**Johnny let Bruce take his keys and lead him into the house.**

**Not fully realizing what he was doing, knowing only that he felt unbearably tired, leaving Bruce to put on a pot of coffee, he went to the living room and collapsed onto the couch.  It took only a few moments for him to sleep, and when he found himself falling away, he saw the black masked face of the dog.__**

****

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End file.
